


The Stolen Child

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Mates, Teacher Derek, Teacher-Student Relationship, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>This is what Derek knows about the Stilinski boy: he goes by 'Stiles', he's ten years old, his mother died last week, and he's been missing for two days.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Derek rescues a boy from faeries and finds his mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stolen Child

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to majoline for looking this over. written for the au: fantasy square at trope bingo. faeries are fantasy, right? right.

>   
> _Come away, O human child!_  
>  To the waters and the wild  
>  With a faery, hand in hand,  
>  For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.  
>  —["The Stolen Child"](http://www.online-literature.com/yeats/816/), William Butler Yeats

This is what Derek knows about the Stilinski boy: he goes by 'Stiles', he's ten years old, his mother died last week, and he's been missing for two days. 

No one knows where he is. His father is frantic and despairing in turns. Derek's mom agrees to help search the Preserve since the Hales know the forest better than anyone else. The sheriff is chasing down leads, and another Deputy, a Hale cousin, is going to lead the hunt for the child. He has a bloodhound and a teeshirt that belongs to the boy. The bloodhound is just for show, of course. The Hales have better noses.

"Derek, you go to the northeast," his mother tells him. He gets a good whiff of the teeshirt and nearly reels backward. The scent is like nothing he's ever experienced. He thinks he's caught a whiff of it in town before, in the library and at the grocery store, but never so strong. Never so concentrated. "Could you find it?" his mom asks. 

Derek nods. He thinks he could pick out this scent anywhere.

"Be careful. Howl if you find something," his mom says, and starts telling the rest of the family where to search.

The northeast bits of the Preserve are beautiful, possibly the most magical. Derek doesn't go often, though, because there's something almost too perfect about the area. He can see where a child would find it inviting, though. It's like a wonderland. 

He isn't expecting to pick up the scent, but he does. He follows it through the trees and over running water, until he's following a larger trickle of water upstream to a waterfall. He's never seen it before. That's odd, but he doesn't know every nook and cranny of the Preserve yet. The clearing's beauty takes his breath. 

"Stiles?" he calls out, and then listens carefully. He thinks he hears laughter, a quiet tinkle like bells, but other than that there is no answer. "Stiles?"

An unnatural mist rolls in suddenly and Derek can barely see his hand in front of his face. He follows his nose, Stiles's scent leading him onward to something. To what, he's not sure. But there's something weird about this place. He doesn't like it. It reminds him too much of the fairy tales he's been told.

And suddenly the mist clears and he's nowhere near where he was when he started. There are bright flowers everywhere, even though it's autumn. The grass and leaves are greener than any green Derek has ever seen in nature.

In the center of the clearing is a boy. _The_ boy. Derek recognizes him from his picture, though this boy's face looks more otherworldly than the one in the school photo. 

"Stiles?" Derek says, approaching him. The closer he gets, the stronger the scent. And this scent is trying to tell Derek something. What, he doesn't know. He only knows he wants to get closer to the source.

"Hi," Stiles says. "Are you here to dance with me? I was dancing for hours but all my friends went away when you showed up."

Derek blinks in confusion. "No. I'm here to take you back home to your dad." He tilts his head back and howls, long and loud. He hears no returning howl, though. He knows his howl should be heard throughout the Preserve and much of Beacon Hills, but no one answers him. 

"That's neat, can you teach me how to do that?" Stiles asks.

"It's something we do in our family," Derek says.

"Because he's a wolf," says a tinkling voice. Derek's eyes widen when he sees a waist-high creature, slim and with wings, appear out of nowhere.

"He's obviously not," Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

The … pixie? faery? giggles and shakes her head. "Oh yes he is."

Quickly, four more beings blink into existence. Stiles looks delighted. Derek frowns.

"Did you kidnap this boy?" he asks.

"He came willingly enough," one of the faeries says. She has hair the color of cherries. 

Derek feels out of his depth. "I need to bring him home to his father."

"We rescued him," Cherry says. "He belongs with us now."

Stiles's face is scrunched up. "My... dad?" he asks, as if he's forgotten.

Derek tries not to let his dismay show. "Yes, your _dad_. He's worried. He's got the whole state looking for you. You've got to come back with me."

Another faery, this one with hair like fresh green moss, stands in front of Stiles and smirks. "Maybe you belong with us now, too."

But the faery magic that is making Stiles forget his past isn't working on Derek. "I have a pack. I belong with _them_."

Moss and Cherry look at each other and then bow their heads together, their whispering too soft for even Derek's sensitive ears to pick up. It goes on for awhile, and they pause occasionally to look back and forth between Stiles and Derek before going back to whispering fiercely.

Eventually, they seem to come to an agreement. They nod at each other and stand back, pushing Stiles and Derek together. Moss says, "We've grown fond of this child. We'll let you go, but Stiles stays."

"I don't think so," Derek growls. This close to Stiles he can practically roll in the scent of him, all vanilla and cinnamon, like the kitchen when his mother and uncle bake together. It's a scent reminiscent of home and pack, and for some reason it makes him want to protect Stiles. Keep him safe. (Keep him, period.)

"Is he yours, then?" Cherry asks, a little too nonchalant. "Would you take responsibility? He was very unhappy when we found him."

Derek grinds his teeth, frustrated. He whisper-hisses, quiet so the kid won't hear. "Of course he was sad, his mother just died!"

"We made him forget all about that. Can you?" Moss demands.

"No," Derek says truthfully. "But I'll... watch out for him."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," Stiles says, walking over to them and looking at Derek curiously. "What's going on? I'm hungry, can we eat again?"

Cherry smiles and gives him a cupcake the size of her head. It looks and smells overly sweet. 

"He needs real food," Derek growls. "He'll get sick if that's all you feed him." He gets the feeling the faeries don't know much about children.

Stiles takes a bite. "'s good," he says around a mouthful of frosting and cake.

Derek can't help but put his hand on Stiles's shoulder. The boy is warm and his scent is almost overpowering. "Will you come back with me, Stiles?" Derek asks.

Stiles looks up at him with golden eyes almost the color of a werewolf's. They're big and inquisitive and make Derek feel strange under their gaze. Stiles looks at the faeries and back to Derek, biting his lip in indecision.

"Will you be my friend?" Stiles asks Derek.

"Yes," Derek says, not questioning his almost immediate answer. Then, smiling a bit, "Will you be mine?"

He's not expecting the armful of skinny ten year old he gets then, but after he recovers from shock he wraps his arms around the boy and holds on, careful not to squeeze too tightly. The boy is warm against his chest and he has to bend down a little to hold on comfortably. He automatically rubs his face against the top of Stiles's head, instinctively scenting him. 

"Hmm," Cherry says, and Derek looks at her from over Stiles's head. 

"Can we go now?" Derek asks.

"One last thing. We have a gift for the boy," Moss says. He glides over to Stiles and with one finger he touches the top of his head. Derek holds back the possessive growl that wants to emerge from his throat. Moss smirks like he knows exactly what Derek is thinking. "There," he says, and pulls his hand away.

"What was that?" Derek asks.

Moss and Cherry and the others start fading from view, along with the clearing. It's disorienting and makes Derek feel out of control. 

"Just a spark..." is the answer, and then the tinkling bells of laughter ring out once more.

"What's your name?" Stiles asks. Derek takes the boy's hand in his own. 

"Derek," he says. 

Stiles nods and slowly his face begins to crumple and his heartbeat picks up. "I forgot. I forgot about Mom."

Derek doesn't know what to do. He's never dealt with grief before except when he was very small and his grandmother died. He remembers the scent of sadness that pervaded the house. Now that scent is coming from Stiles.

"It'll get easier," Derek says, because he knows it will and it's the only thing he can think to say. He gets down on one knee in front of the boy and looks him in the eye. "Are you ready to go back now?"

Stiles shakes his head and then throws himself against Derek again. This time Derek is expecting it so he just holds the boy close to him and says nothing. Derek can smell salt-tears and embarrassment, but he doesn't remark on it, just rubs the boy's back.

Eventually, Stiles tires himself out. Derek doesn't know if the boy has slept any in the past two days or if he only ate sugar cakes and danced with the faeries. Derek stands with the boy in his arms when he's sure Stiles won't wake. 

He carries the boy all the way home.

* * *

A month later, a woman named Kate Argent blows into town and into Derek's life. But there's something about her that just seems _off_. Her scent, maybe. At one time Derek might have found the dangerous edge to it enticing, but now he can only compare it to vanilla and cinnamon.

Besides, Derek is too busy. On top of school and training with his family, he's been spending time with Stiles. Almost everyone calls it babysitting, but it doesn't feel like that to Derek. He should be annoyed by Stiles because Derek is a teenager and everything annoys him, but instead he's magnetically pulled to the boy. 

Derek doesn't understand why he feels protective and possessive of Stiles. When he finally goes to his mother to ask her advice, she smiles and cuddles him like he's Stiles's age and says, "Just listen to your instincts. They won't steer you wrong."

The sheriff seems grateful for Derek's attention to his son. He's obviously taking his wife's death hard, and when he's not working himself to death, Derek can smell the whiskey on his breath. Derek frequently takes Stiles to the Hale house, where he can play if he wants, seek attention from an adult if he needs it, or just hang out with Derek.

Derek likes the last option the best, though knowing the pack is watching out for Stiles like another of the pups makes him happy.

* * *

They grow up. Derek goes to college. He calls and Skypes with Stiles constantly, but it's not the same. For some reason (there's a reason, Derek's just not ready to admit it to himself yet) there's an almost physical ache being away from Stiles. 

Stiles is still young. Too young. Derek worries about him, though he knows his father and the pack look out for him. Derek made his family promise to watch over Stiles while he was away, and of course they agreed. Still, it's not the same as being there himself.

When Derek talks to his mom on the phone, he asks how Stiles is. 

"I know you talk to him all the time," his mother says with a smile in her voice.

"He wouldn't tell me if something was wrong," Derek says.

"He misses you," she says, and those simple words both warm him and make him feel awful. He wants to get back to Beacon Hills and make it right as soon as possible.

"I miss him, too," Derek admits quietly. It's okay to say that to his mom. She understands. She gets it.

* * *

After college, Derek goes back to Beacon Hills and takes the only job his degree allows for: he's the new English and Creative Writing teacher at BHHS. 

Stiles isn't in any of his regular English classes because he's taking the AP class and that's taught by Mrs. Zimmerman. But Stiles takes the elective Creative Writing class.

It's difficult. Seeing Stiles every day and wanting to touch him every time he turns around is _distracting_. So maybe Derek gets a little harsh in class. He frowns a lot. Scowls, more like. He's teaching a subject he loves but he's just so angry with himself that his methods suffer. He's soon dubbed the 'mean' teacher, and when he hears the kids' whispers he notes that the conversation almost always revolves around Derek being a secret serial killer. 

Stiles doesn't take this new personality facet very well. After the first week of classes, Stiles waits until the other kids have rushed away to their next class before approaching Derek.

Derek scowls at him. "What."

"You're such a dick in class," Stiles says. "You want to talk about it? What the hell, Derek?"

Derek thinks of a million answers to that question and winds up saying, "It's Mr. Hale while we're at school."

Stiles looks and smells _hurt_ and Derek inwardly winces. "I know you," Stiles says. "This isn't you."

He's so young, still. Derek reminds himself of this fact every single day. "I can't-" Derek says, and then cuts himself off.

Stiles tilts his head. "Can't what?"

The bell rings. Derek shakes his head. "You're late for your next class."

"Write me a pass, then," Stiles says.

Derek snorts and does. "Just... give me some time. I'll figure this out." He says it quietly, and thankfully Stiles doesn't ask any more questions.

* * *

He mellows after that. At first he's still tense in Stiles's class, but over time he relaxes. He tells himself he'd be in a mess of trouble if Stiles wised up and decided to start throwing himself at him. Derek doesn't think he could resist if that happened.

Luckily, it doesn't. Stiles only seems to see him as the big brother he never had. It makes Derek doubt what will happen in the future, if Stiles will finally see him differently once he's old enough to be told.

Derek for one has finally admitted to himself that Stiles is his mate, his one and only. He's been patient, and can be patient a couple of years longer. Just until after Stiles has graduated. That's what Derek is holding out for.

* * *

They're learning poetry. What it is, how to read it, how to write it. He asks all the kids to bring in a poem to read to the class, and then they'll discuss it.

Stiles's poem is "The Stolen Child". Derek is surprised. He's never asked Stiles how much he remembers of his 'adventure' with the faeries. It's just never come up. Stiles has never asked Derek what they meant when they called him a wolf, either. Or that he'd howled. Derek assumed Stiles forgot all that, the way he'd forgotten his mother's death when he was with the faeries. Now he's doubting that.

The class discusses the poem, but Derek barely pays attention. He's certain Stiles is trying to tell him something. What, he's not sure.

* * *

At the end of the semester, Stiles's final project in the class is to write something and present it to the class.

Stiles uncharacteristically completely botches the assignment. He's been an exemplary student so far and it pings Derek as a serious matter.

"I did the project," Stiles tells Derek when he's confronted after class. He's staring at his shoes. "I just... I didn't want to share it." He's mumbling so soft that Derek can barely understand, even with werewolf hearing.

"Will you show me?" Derek asks. "I can give you partial credit..."

Stiles bites his bottom lip, looking indecisive. After a moment he nods and digs a folder out of his bag. He shoves it toward Derek without a word.

Derek reads. The poem is good, very good, but that's not what gets his attention. The phrases are full of emotion: longing and love. Not in a childish way, either; there are very mature concepts behind the lines. Stiles is obviously in love and has been hiding it. Derek clears his throat and says, "I can't give you an A, since you didn't complete the full assignment. The presentation was worth at least twenty-five percent of the grade."

Stiles doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he laughs. "That's all you have to say?"

No, it's not. Derek wants to shake Stiles, demand to know who has stolen his heart. But he can't, he doesn't have the right. Even though Stiles is his mate. Even though Stiles is _everything_. "It's very good," Derek says thickly. "You should submit it for publication."

" _Derek_ ," Stiles says, and his voice is full of frustration. 

Derek looks at him, really looks, and decides he should be a good man in this, no matter how loud his wolf howls inside him. "You shouldn't hide it," he says. "You should- Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Stiles."

A startled laugh is how Stiles reacts. "You think- Derek, no."

Derek scowls, not happy to be laughed at. "What."

Stiles takes his bag off his shoulder and sets it on one of the desks, then moves closer. Derek can feel his eyes widen as Stiles nearly closes the gap between them altogether. Stiles reaches out and takes Derek's hand, like he has so many times before since he was just a lost little boy. 

"You shouldn't-" Derek says, looking at the small window in the classroom door. It may be an innocent touch but it would appear inappropriate to an outsider.

"Shut up a minute," Stiles says, smiling a little. His scent isn't happy, though, it's nerves and fear and this close, Derek can smell the want rolling off him. It's not the first time Stiles has smelled aroused around him, but Derek could always write it off before. Like maybe Stiles was just being a horny teenager, or maybe he was thinking of someone else. But now there's no mistaking it. Stiles wants _Derek_.

Derek swallows hard and thinks about their conversation. The pieces of the puzzle slide together but he's afraid of coming to the wrong conclusion. "Tell me, then."

"It's you. It's always just been you," Stiles says.

Derek squeezes his hand tight. Maybe too tight, but Stiles doesn't object, just keeps watching Derek's face for a reaction.

"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now," Derek whispers, and Stiles's eyes go wide and he licks his lips. Derek takes a deep breath. "But we can't. Not... not here, at least."

"You're not going to tell me I'm too young?" Stiles asks, nearly breathless.

"No," Derek says simply.

Stiles starts to grin, slow at first, but then he's giving Derek a full wattage smile. "Okay. Okay. If not here, then where? When?"

"My apartment, after school," Derek says, and suddenly he's dizzy with the realization that his mate wants him and that he's going to be with him. Soon.

* * *

It's raining after school. Stiles gets to the apartment first. He's waiting outside Derek's building when Derek pulls up, standing with his hands in his jeans pockets, red hoodie pulled up over his head. As Derek gets out of the car the rain, which was only a drizzle, starts to teem down. They're both soaked by the time they get inside.

"I'll get towels," Derek says, but Stiles shakes his head. 

"No, you're supposed to say, 'let's get out of these wet clothes'," Stiles says with a nervous smile.

They're standing close together, and because Derek can, he leans over and brushes his lips against Stiles's. He hears Stiles's heartbeat pick up and he smiles. "This isn't porn. And we're not doing anything you don't want."

Stiles snorts. "You have no idea how much I want you. Everything." He says it so honestly, open and without guile. But then he shivers, and Derek remembers the wet clothes situation.

"You could put something of mine on," Derek says. He likes the idea of Stiles wearing his clothes. He tries to ignore what Stiles just said.

"We should both change," Stiles says with a decisive nod. 

"Okay," Derek says. "Come on up." He leads Stiles up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. 

Having his willing mate in his bedroom, alone, is doing all kinds of things to Derek's self-control. Mainly making it weak.

"I've never been up here before," Stiles says. Then he takes off his hoodie and drags his wet shirt up and over his head so that he's standing in front of Derek, shirtless, his nipples peaked from the cold.

Derek growls at the sight and moves in close, then kisses Stiles the way he wants, long and deep and possessive. Stiles whimpers and moans, pressing up against Derek's body wantonly. It's almost enough to make Derek's control snap completely.

But not quite. He pulls back, smirking a little at Stiles's dazed expression, at his kiss-swollen lips. 

"Why'd you stop?" Stiles asks when he gets his breath back.

"There's something we have to talk about first," Derek says. "Something I have to tell you."

Stiles blinks slowly, then nods. "Is it the werewolf thing?"

Derek's jaw drops for a second before he catches himself. "You know?"

"I've known since I was twelve or so," Stiles says. "I just figured it was a secret."

"It is," Derek says. 

"Okay," Stiles says. "Is there more?"

Derek himself is a bit cold, so he loosens his tie and strips out of his button-down. Stiles watches him with a slightly stunned yet hungry look.

"Do you know anything about werewolves?" Derek asks.

"You know me," Stiles says. "You know I had to have researched the hell out of it."

Derek nods. That means Stiles knows about mates, too. Derek doesn't want to come out and say it, though. It feels like it's too soon, even though it's been years leading up to this. Stiles is still so young.

Instead of telling Stiles all he means to him, Derek reaches out and smooths a hand over Stiles's bare shoulder, just to feel the skin beneath his palm. 

"Can I...?" Stiles asks, reaching out to touch, too. Derek nods — of course he can touch — and Stiles lays a flat hand against Derek's defined chest. "You're so... wow."

Derek smiles. "So are you."

Stiles flushes and grins, then slides his hand down to hook a finger in Derek's belt loop, walking backward and tugging Derek toward the bed. "Full disclosure, I've never done this before."

"Neither have I," Derek says simply. He wants to reassure, but also show Stiles how he feels.

Stiles splutters and nearly trips the rest of the way to the bed. He sits down hard, shock written all over his face. "You're a _virgin_?"

Derek wants to laugh at his reaction. He doesn't, though. He says, as plainly as possible, "It's only ever been you for me."

He half expects Stiles to panic. Derek's just dropped a pretty big bomb. But Stiles, after a stunned silence, grins wider than Derek's ever seen before. "Yeah. Me too."

And then Derek can't help it anymore and he's pushing Stiles down on the bed and crawling on top of him, kissing his throat, the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of _mate_ and _home_. Stiles's scent has changed a little over the years, maturing into something that make Derek's senses sing. "You smell so amazing," Derek tells him.

"I can't believe this is finally happening. That you want me as much as I want you," Stiles says.

Derek pauses to pull back and look him in the eye. "I _love_ you." Because it needs to be said.

Stiles moans and kisses him, kisses every part of him he can reach. "Love you, too. So much. Since forever."

Their clothes are wet and clingy and hard to take off, but they manage. Derek doesn't think he's ever seen anything as beautiful as Stiles, naked and spread out under him. He's never been so grateful for faery kidnappings as he is in this moment.

"What's that look?" Stiles asks, flushed and panting, his arms pinned up above his head by one of Derek's hands.

Derek grins. "Just thanking the faeries."

Stiles gives him an incredulous look, then laughs, loud and happy. "Yeah, they... yeah." Like he can't think of anything else to say to that. "Our lives, dude. So weird."

Kissing Stiles seems the best response to that. Stiles strains under him, his cock hard and his body hot and amazing. Derek moves to his neck again, sucking small bruises against the skin. Stiles gasps when Derek's blunt teeth scrape against his throat, and he tilts his head back more, baring himself and making Derek's fangs itch to come out. Derek has to pull back and close his eyes, his instincts warring with his need to keep things gentle this first time.

"Open your eyes," Stiles says. Derek does, helplessly, and Stiles gasps. Derek knows his eyes are glowing, but for the first time in years he's unable to control it.

"Sorry. I can't-"

"No, you're.. wow," Stiles says, smiling. "Blue, huh?"

"It's okay?" Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs as best he can. "It's you."

Derek growls and kisses him, overcome with emotion and the instinctual need to get closer to his mate. He mouths words he can't yet voice against Stiles's shoulder, slowly grinding against him. Their bodies are too dry and catch, too much friction and not enough slide. Derek lets go of Stiles's wrists for a moment to grab the bottle of lotion from the bedside table.

"Cold," Stiles gasps when Derek squirts some lotion between their bodies. 

"Not for long," Derek says, and settles back on top of him, feeling the slick substance on their skin. His body rocks against Stiles's.

"Oh god," Stiles moans. "So good."

Soon they are both moving against each other, Stiles arching up into every one of Derek's jerky rocking motions. Their cocks slide against each other, slick and hard and perfect. Derek's never felt anything so good before, and he knows neither has Stiles.

Stiles comes before Derek can wedge a hand between them. He's a pleasure to watch as he gasps and arches and makes a half-choked sound in his throat. Derek needs a little more, so he leans back enough to wrap a hand around himself. He jerks himself off fast and hard until he's spurting all over Stiles's chest. Some of Derek's come even makes it to Stiles's face, one thin white line from his bottom lip to his throat.

Stiles licks his lips and Derek moans at the sight, his dick twitching and wanting to come all over again.

Derek collapses beside him on the bed, feeling like he's been busted open with explosives. His wolf is content, his heart is full, and all that's left to do is gather Stiles close to him and hold him.

"Everything okay?" Derek asks, just to be sure.

"That was good," Stiles says, cuddling close. "That was very, very good."

They're quiet for a little while. Then Derek says, "I was waiting until your graduation."

"That's a whole other year!" Stiles says. "I can't believe you would have waited that long."

Derek stops himself from saying something corny like 'I would've waited a lifetime', even though it's true. Instead, he says, "I love you." Still emotional, but not quite as sappy.

Stiles nuzzles Derek's neck, his breath tickling Derek's skin. "Love you, too. I really do."

When Derek thinks Stiles has fallen asleep, he lets himself bask. His mate is in his arms, smelling like Derek, like DerekandStiles, and he's not going anywhere. Derek doesn't know how he's going to deal with the next year of Stiles being underage, but he'll work it out. Stiles and he are meant to be together. Stiles is his perfect match.

"Am I your mate?" Stiles asks, startling Derek out of his reverie. 

"I thought you were asleep," Derek says, stalling.

Stiles picks his head up, looking at Derek. "Am I?" he asks again. He's so young, and being mates is a huge commitment. 

"I didn't want to tell you yet," Derek admits.

"Why not?" Stiles asks, frowning. 

"It's a big deal," Derek says. "I didn't want to scare you."

Stiles smiles reassuringly. It makes Derek feel better, even though he's a little weirded out that _Stiles_ is the one reassuring _him_. "It doesn't scare me," Stiles says. "I've thought about it. I've dreamed of being your mate. I never thought I had a chance."

"It's always been you," Derek tells him.

Stiles grins and settles back down into Derek's arms. "Does your family know?"

"Yeah. I've never been subtle about it," Derek says.

Stiles hums happily and snuggles closer. "Bless those faeries."

Derek laughs.

"My dad's working all night, so..." Stiles says, trailing off and letting Derek come to his own conclusions.

"You need to sleep a little," Derek says. 

"Mm hm," Stiles says. "I've gotta be rested up for round two, am I right?"

"My thoughts exactly," Derek murmurs.


End file.
